Truce
Your nacreous eyes is a mirror
Palled by a multitude of horror
A window swung open
But shuttered by a void emptiness
In its hazel glaze I implored
My own lifeless reflection
Still - like a metallic lake
Concealing a surreptitious daemon
Whilst the myopia of vision won
And stifled any sanguine climate
We never batted an eyelash
In hope for a drifting light
And in fear of total eclipse
So eye to eye, we confabulated
With metaphors and false-analogies
As our thoughts morph into blindness
White as oblivion and black as its shadow
Piercing the robust chamber of life
And the angel's panacea slewed
Into the squalid gutters, it burned
With a pang that perpetuates
Like your voice, when you assured
That crows are black
And pigeons maybe white,
Maybe gray, maybe colorless
And you contended to bring a light
In the ubiquity of shades
But our eyes are older than the hills
That sans our chains and suppressed
Our inner lamentations
And this struggle to put up
With your vindictive stares
Defiles my inner sanctum
For the fortification you gave me
Is now a bastion against your assaults
And truce, I call, upon this white flag
To all the venomous foreseeing,
To all the harlequin tears,
To all the forgotten spur,
To all the farce destruction
I shut my eyes tonight
To sleep and relearn:
Reset the ways
Of the scathing Braille.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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